


Blinking In The Dark

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fingerfucking, Fucking, Late at Night, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Slash, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5558099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late when Mark slips into his bed.</p><p>They don't talk.  They never talk.  Haven't done for over a decade, not since this thing started.  Not before, not during, not after.</p><p>There's nothing really to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blinking In The Dark

It's late when Mark slips into his bed.

They don't talk. They never talk. Haven't done for over a decade, not since this thing started. Not before, not during, not after.

There's nothing really to say.

But hands. God, big hands sliding slowly up his thigh, thick fingers caressing him slowly. Kian pretends not to wake, though he knows Mark isn't fooled. He wants this for a moment, though. The pretended ignorance. Pursing his lips over a soft moan when he feels one finger stroke unstoppably up his hip, across the twitching, sensitive muscle of his belly.

Hot tongue flitting gently in behind his ear. His eyes are closed but he knows the presence of it. On all fours above him, hard pressure where each fist is rested in the mattress beside his shoulders, the sinking heat of Mark lowering himself, elbows sinking in next to him.

A soft breath teases his ear. He swallows hard, feels a tongue chase it, soft and wet. One hand trailing down his chest again, his eyes still closed while he tries not to gasp. Yes. Yes. Oh...

There. Drifting slowly across his groin, cupping to the mounded shape of bone. A soft growl in his ear.

He wants to grab, wants to force it down, but the spell is utterly intoxicating. Holding himself so still while full lips mouth to his throat, a tongue flickers up his jaw. His hips arch slightly anyway, eyes squeezing tighter and hoping Mark hasn't noticed. Hoping he'll keep pressing down with that firm, burning hot hand.

A thumb strokes lower, just over the root of him. Teasing and calloused. He's hard. God, he's so hard.

“Mm...” Mark mutters. Kian tries not to reply. Licks his lips because they're suddenly dry. Tries to breathe easy. Can't. Not when the hand is skating down, rolling his balls carefully, then tugging just hard enough to hurt. He whimpers. Whimpers again when a hand squeezes him gently before skirting back down, fingers pressing against him.

They leave. There's a sucking pop, then they trail down his throat. Wet and slicked with saliva. Mark breathes at his throat again.

The fingers press.

It's wretched how much he loves this. How they've gotten to here he'll never know. No permission was asked, none was given, but for some reason Kian can't remember a time when that was a problem. All he remembers was that first time, eyes wide and mouth gulping down ragged gasps while Mark entered him, pushed him apart, their foreheads leaned together, his legs around a solid waist and thinking that this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

This is wrong.

This is so so perfect.

He cries out when the fingers push in. Three at once. Not asking. Just a growl that's all ownership and intent while his hips force back, eyes squeezing tighter and there's no damn point pretending any more but he's almost afraid of what he might see if he opens them.

The fingers twist. Gulping, trembling intensity right up into his gut while he slams himself down onto them, knees hitching higher to make more room. Wrapping around a solid waist and feet clawing, hands scrabbling at a long back while Mark shoves into him again. Again. Fingers twisting and curling hard. Again. Again. Agai...

His hand finds his own cock, tugging more to ease the pressure than anything. Head twisting sideways in a shout when teeth sink into his throat. The fingers twist, and when they pull out it's to palm his arse, fingers digging in underneath him, cradling him and thumb pushing in. Kian sobs, lets out a series of staccato whines to the beat of it. Jabbing in like a damn piston, going deep before he can get his breath from the last one. He can't breathe. A bite sucks to his chin, his own hand moving fast. Faster. Fuck. He wants to bring himself off, needs it, but not yet. Not until...

The hand pulls away. He sinks back, still writhing and whimpering on the bed. Wanting more. Wanting everything. Almost in tears with need.

A hand palms gently over his belly. He sobs, almost in pain with frustration. A kiss brushes just below his navel, Mark's hands shifting on the bed while he lowers himself. Sucking, moaning kisses. A nose grinding into his groin to the rhythm of deep breaths. Mark sniffing him, breathing him in.

He licks back up. Kian bite his lip, feels fingers circle his entrance again.

“Now.” He mumbles. Feels Mark's breath hitch when they both realise one of them has spoken. It's not what they do. He thinks he's ruined it. Mark will run. This isn't what they're supposed to be.

A soft kiss sucks below his ear.

“Now.” Mark whispers.

He slams in hard, Kian roaring a scream without meaning to, hands scrambling to get purchase on strong shoulders and locking there, needing to just hang on to something. To Mark. Who is frozen inside him, hot panting breaths coming from the mouth in his neck. He's caught up tight, Mark sinking again until they're pressed together, arms holding him tight while they wind around each other, soft hair settling into the crook of his neck.

Kian strokes it, hears a soft sob shake through them.

Mark's tears don't last long. They never do. Kian's either. He's not sure why they do this to themselves, but maybe it has something to do with the secret. With release. They're letting go of something here, so why not let go of everything. Every anger, every frustration. The clawed black things that settle on their shoulders all day, replaced by soft hands and careful touches.

A hand palms up his side. He kisses the hair he can feel settled into his neck, shudders at the beginning roll of hips against him. There. Shifting and adjusting until they both find the spot, Kian making a pleased grunt of approval when pressure hits right where it should, squeezes down to keep it there. Mark's whine is nonsense. Kian understands.

He hears a soft, soothing murmur when he's close. Croons it back. Mark is shuddering. Hips snapping too hard while Kian takes every savage thrust, feet hooked around strong thighs, slipping in sweat. It's everywhere. Slick. Mark slides in it, driving deep, and when Kian reaches down to touch himself again he realises that he's soaking down there, hot sweat caught between them and somehow more satisfying than the wetness he usually feels with a girl.

Fingers stroke past his, feeling it too. The broken moan of approval is perfection, their hands linking together for a brief moment on the way past. He wraps a hand around himself, tries to chase the tipping point Mark is balancing them on. Doesn't want to go first. Doesn't want to go last either.

Gurgling, whispering moan. Mark making a sound that is unh, unh, unh against his ear. He might be going mad.

He doesn't fucking care.

Mark hits it first, slamming so deep it can't be real. He spreads himself, tries to take it all. Feels the flooding pulse when it comes thick and heavy. Condoms are probably a good idea, in theory. He's had enough of good ideas to last a lifetime.

Hips are still moving. Mark won't stop. Not until they're both done. Never has.

Kian loves him a little for that.

He comes with a breathless, silent bark, arching hard off the bed while he coats his hand. Coats Mark, himself, squelching between them while Mark yanks them together, devouring his mouth. Wet. So wet.

Mark licks Kian's lips when he pulls out. Slow and careful, soothing over his mouth and pressing kisses down his chin and up his cheeks. It's perversely sweet.

The hand palms over his pubic bone again. A kiss brushes his stomach, smudging through slick release.

The bed rolls.

Footsteps.

The door closes.

Kian opens his eyes, blinking up at a dark ceiling he can barely see.

 


End file.
